


let us find our rest

by missgiven



Series: trim the hearth & set the table [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Days of Rest, Gen, Holy Saturday, M/M, Mutual Pining, Scene: Crucifixion of Jesus 33 AD (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgiven/pseuds/missgiven
Summary: The year is 33 A.D. Jerusalem. It's the first time Aziraphale and Crowley have spent time together for the sole purpose of sharing one another's company. No excuses, no arrangements -- just them.It was an unseasonably warm day for early April, and Crowley’s roof was a fine place to pass the time. The food Aziraphale had brought took a long time to run out, and the wine took longer. They stayed on Crowley’s roof until the stars came out, and then they stayed to admire them.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: trim the hearth & set the table [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564021
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	let us find our rest

_Jerusalem, 33 A.D._

Aziraphale knocked on the door frame of the house he knew Crowley was currently occupying.

When there was no answer, Aziraphale huffed and tried again.

And again.

He hoisted the basket he was carrying more securely into the crook of his elbow.

“Crowley?” he called through the little window in the door. “I say, are you in there? I need you.” That sounded rather honest. How dreadful. “I need to speak with you right away. Come along, you wretched demon.”

He heard a low voice gasp behind him and he turned around. A pair of women had apparently been passing by right at that moment, and were looking at Aziraphale suspiciously. He tutted.

“Figure of speech. I’ve an ornery friend, is all. Off you go.”

They did, and Aziraphale turned back to the door.

“Right, Crowley, I’m coming in there. In just one moment. You watch me.”

Aziraphale waited for a dramatic moment, sure that Crowley, or at least one of his servants, would be coming to let him in any moment now.

Such a thing did not come to pass.

Tentatively, he sent out a little metaphysical tendril — make sure the demon was about the place, that he wasn’t causing a racket for nothing. Sure enough, he identified a familiar presence that was frenetic yet cool within the dwelling. Crowley was in residence, all right.

He sighed. Perhaps he should just go home. If Crowley was truly so opposed to visitors, well. And if Aziraphale were to burst in uninvited, not only would it be _rude_ , but he might appear _needy._ Which he _wasn’t._

As he shifted on his feet, the clay vessels tucked inside his bag clicked against one another. Aziraphale tutted again. He had some first rate olive oil and new bread in here. And the finest imported wine he’d been able to find on short notice. He didn’t much feel like enjoying them alone.

Didn’t much feel like being alone, come to think of it, but that was neither here nor there.

“Crowley!”

“ _WHAT._ ”

Aziraphale jerked back in surprise as the door flew open in front of him. Crowley stood before him looking an absolute fright. His clothes and hair were in disarray and his eyes — fully golden, with no white sclera to be seen — were furious.

“Good, there you are,” Aziraphale said, bustling past the irate demon in front of him and heading towards the room where he knew Crowley kept the long, low table where he ate most of his meals.

He heard the door click shut and Crowley’s quick footsteps following him to the dining room. By the time Crowley had joined him there, Aziraphale had begun unpacking his parcels.

“What are you doing, angel?” Crowley growled at him, leaning menacingly against the doorframe.

Aziraphale barely glanced at him as he unrolled a cloth containing some fresh date cookies. “Just a bit of a visit, isn’t it? I’ve brought that olive oil you liked.”

“We don’t _visit._ What do you _need._ ”

Despite himself, Aziraphale’s heart fluttered a bit. It was true that this something of a first. Still, it was a long time coming, and no need to make a fuss over the natural progression of a relationship with a colleague.

“We always _end up_ spending time together. I thought, let’s just do it on purpose this time, and why not? Exercise some of that free will you were banging on about the other day.”

Crowley hissed in frustration. “The free will to get yourself killed as a sacrifice for your shitty dad? The free will to show up at the home of the adversary, at _my_ godforsaken home, not _one full day_ after _your bossss killed His sssson!_ You have got ssome bloody nerve, Azssiraphale, this is —”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale interrupted his tirade. Crowley had been advancing on Aziraphale with no short supply of menace, but stopped short at Aziraphale’s voice, though he was still breathing heavily.

“Do you happen to have fresh water for the wine?”

Crowley took in a great breath as if to continue his earlier train of thought. Aziraphale thought it prudent to change tactics, and quickly. He rose up to meet Crowley and intercepted him with a hand on his forearm. Crowley glared at Aziraphale, but remained still for once.

“My dear boy. You must not think that I —” Aziraphale suddenly found it hard to continue. His eyes burned and he had the distinct sensation of having a lump in his throat. He willed the irritatingly mortal phenomena away. It took a long moment, during which Crowley continued glaring, and watched.

When he had quite recovered, Aziraphale spoke. It took some effort. “I didn’t want him to die, either. It wasn’t my choice. And I couldn’t stop it.”

“Because of your Orders,” Crowley snarled, jerking his arm away.

“Because when I tried to it didn’t _work_!”

For the first time that day, Crowley’s angry expression abated. He chewed on his lower lip and stared at Aziraphale, looking anxious. Aziraphale found he had essentially nothing else to say for the moment, and stared back.

Eventually Crowley broke their stand-off and dove for a chest that was pressed up against the wall. He retrieved two clay cups, closed the chest, and picked up a pitcher of water from the table that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Come on. Pack all that kit up. It’s a nice day and we can eat on the roof.”

He swept past Aziraphale in a rush of linen cloth and the faintest hint of the rose-scented oil he preferred.

It was an unseasonably warm day for early April, and Crowley’s roof was a fine place to pass the time. The food Aziraphale had brought took a long time to run out, and the wine took longer. They stayed on Crowley’s roof until the stars came out, and then they stayed to admire them.

By the time the dawn was peeking over the edge of the horizon, Crowley had just barely begun to doze by Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale suddenly got a very serious feeling that he ought to be heading to the garden out by Golgotha. He sighed. He hated Heaven’s “vague intuition” communications. Just say what you _mean._

He jostled Crowley’s shoulder. “Get up.”

“Nuhh.”

“I’ve got to go. An assignment. I’d better not ignore it.” He jostled again, more insistently this time.

Crowley sat up, blinking sleepily. “Have a good time of it then, angel.”

The light of the dawn struck his olive skin, and Aziraphale noticed.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Come thou long expected Jesus.” 
> 
> Prompt taken from the instagram AdventWord. Day 2: Visit.


End file.
